


Mid-day Horror Story

by stillskies



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillskies/pseuds/stillskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jirou is hungry. So very hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mid-day Horror Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nekokatechan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nekokatechan).



> Originally posted 03-08-2007

There is something different about Jirou, and Atobe is unable to put his finger on it. It’s not a physical change; he has spent too long simply gazing at his teammate to not automatically discern something of that type, be it a hair cut to a new uniform. No. It was something else, and the other students seemed to sense it, too, if the wide berth they gave him was any indication.

Jirou is in front of him now, rubbing his eyes sleepily, and Atobe wonders if maybe what’s different is that Jirou hasn’t slept. Of course, he thinks as they begin walking toward the tennis courts together, that is ridiculous, because Jirou had been using him as a pillow the day before.

“Atobe,” Jirou says, and Atobe pauses. There is something about Jirou’s voice, and his inability to pinpoint it is starting to frustrate him.

“Yes, Jirou,” he replies, taking Jirou’s momentary silence to study the other boy’s features. This close, he can see that Jirou looks a little pale, and Atobe thinks that maybe his friend is sick.

“I’m hungry,” the blonde finally says, moving forward to rest his head on Atobe’s shoulder. “So hungry.”

Atobe glances around until he is satisfied that they are alone before wrapping one arm around Jirou’s waist. “Did you sleep through lunch?” he asks and makes a mental note to give Mukahi thirty extra laps. Atobe cannot be with Jirou every minute of the day, but Mukahi is in the same class. He should have woken Jirou up.

Jirou’s lips are cool against his neck, and Atobe wonders if maybe he has mistaken the type of hunger Jirou feels. “No, Gakuto woke me up and shared his lunch with me. I forgot mine again,” he says.

Somehow, Atobe is pressed up against the wall and Jirou’s hands are doing decidedly distracting things under his shirt. Jirou’s teeth graze his collarbone, and Atobe feels his breath catch in his throat. His fingers dig into Jirou’s side, and Jirou mewls softly and nips at the skin of his neck.

“Jirou,” he rasps. They will be late to practice if this continues, he knows, and this is high school, not middle school, and Atobe is not yet captain. He cannot afford to be late, not with Nationals a week away, but Jirou is making such wonderful sounds, and he knows that he cannot deny the boy in front of him anything.

“Atobe,” Jirou whispers before his neck before Atobe’s world explodes into a mirage of colors and sensations.

He isn’t aware of how long the feeling lasts, only that as he comes back to himself, Jirou is smiling contentedly in front of him, licking his lips. There is a smear of red on the corner of Jirou’s mouth, and he reaches a lethargic hand to wipe it away. Jirou catches his had he moves it away and sucks the liquid from his finger, taking care to keep their gazes locked.

There is a moment where neither of them speaks but it is shattered when Shishido appears, yelling for them to hurry or they’ll have to run extra laps.

It isn’t until Atobe is changing out of his practice jersey that he notices the two tiny puncture wounds in his neck. He sighs and buttons up his uniform shirt before walking over to where Jirou lay napping on the bench.

“Next time,” he whispers in Jirou’s ear, knowing full well that he is awake, “find Shishido to snack on.”

Jirou smiles at him, a mere upturning of lips, before whispering just as softly, “He doesn’t taste as good as Atobe.”


End file.
